Ten Mountain Men’s Baby by Nicole Casey
Holly
Ifound a few articles Wendy had written online. I didn’t have to read much to realize I didn’t want to end up in any of her reports. Every person she wrote about was either desperate and depraved or hopelessly naïve and wasting good intentions on feeble efforts. I had a much different vision for the blog I was going to keep. Just like Mrs. Freedman, I was going to keep things fun, adventurous, and, by all means, with dignity for the individuals in my stories.
I had intended to visit the town of Suches before my twelve o’clock meeting with Doctor Raskin at Union General. But I woke up sore from my shoulders to my feet, so I decided, instead, to sleep in a bit then enjoy a simple, relaxing breakfast on the porch of the hotel. There, I could begin writing down my impressions.
The mountains kept me company, just beyond a small stretch of trees in front of the porch. Despite my sore muscles, I was eager to get back to them. I missed the trail already.
Harold, who ran the hotel with his wife Judy, offered to drive me to the hospital.
“That’s very kind of you,” I said, “but the hospital’s only a mile and a half away—spitting distance. And I don’t intend to get in a car for at least six months.”
He smiled and nodded. “I understand.”
* * *
I had never done much photography unless I was counting selfies and action shots with my phone. And the digital camera Mrs. Freedman had given me was far too fancy for my limited abilities. Fortunately, one of the nurses, Greta, was a photography enthusiast. She was able to show me how to get around on the camera, and we took photos together: photos of the staff with their patients, photos of the staff with the equipment. Some aspects of the hospital were clearly in need of an update, but more important than the equipment, the hospital was filled with caring, competent people eager to serve their community.
“I’m only sorry you couldn’t have come sooner,” said Doctor Raskin. “You could have met one of our volunteers: a doctor from out of town. Like you, he’s doing the trail and stopping in villages along the way, visiting hospitals, volunteering.”
“Oh,” I said. “Yes, it’s too bad that I didn’t get a chance to meet him.”
“I figured that’s the thing you’d want to write about,” he said. “The people part of the story.”
I motioned to him with an open hand. “People like you, Doctor Raskin.”
He swatted away my comment. “Oh, me. I was born and raised here in Georgia. There’s nothing interesting about me. But this young man. He’s a colorful guy.” He reached for the shelf beside him, grabbed a pad of paper, and handed it to me. “I asked him to jot down some of his details in case you might want to include his story in your article.”
“Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you.”
He stood and extended his hand. “Ms. Nestor, it was lovely meeting you.”
I was surprised. We had only just sat down, and I had hoped to get an interview. I shook his hand. “It was lovely meeting you, Doctor Raskin.”
“If you need to take more photos,” he said, “the hospital is at your disposal. But, if you’ll excuse me, I can’t keep my patients waiting.”
“Of course.”
I slipped the pad of paper into my bag, said a final goodbye to the receptionist and the nurses I crossed on my way out, and headed back into town.
It was a cool and breezy afternoon, perfect weather to sit with a warm cup of coffee on the porch of a quaint restaurant in historic downtown Suches and write my first blog entry.
The pad of paper Doctor Raskin had given me contained a two-page biography of a volunteer named Ryker Dennison. And the doctor was right. He was interesting, and his story was something I wanted to include in my article.
What I found most amazing were the number of similarities between his story and mine: not only the circumstances of his presence there—going on the thru-hike and stopping off in various towns to do some volunteer work—but he had also been adopted, in North Carolina, and hoped to track down his birth family somehow over the course of his trip.
I wish he’d left me his photo.
Ryker Dennison. Let’s hope you’re a slow hiker. Maybe I’ll catch up with you on the trail.
* * *
That evening, as promised, I checked in with Gwen, and I checked in with my parents. I only spoke with my mom briefly. She said she wasn’t feeling too well and she needed to lie down. I was skeptical and asked my dad if she was still upset about my going on this trip.
“She’s never happy when you go away for long periods of time,” he said, “but she’ll be fine.”
“I wanted to tell her how beautiful it is here and how nice everyone’s been to me.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“But after a minute, she said she had to go lie down like I upset her or something.”
“No, no, no,” he said emphatically. “She’s been a bit under the weather these last few days.”
“I hope she’s okay.”
“She’ll be fine,” he said. “You just take care of yourself. We’ll be following your blog.”
“I’m going to post my first entry in about an hour,” I said excitedly. “I just want to check in with Mrs. Freedman first.”
“We can’t wait to read it.”
“Thanks, Chris.”
“Take care of yourself.”
“I’ll call in about a week or so. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Mrs. Freedman was less chatty than even my terse father. “I’m sure whatever you write will be fine,” she said, interrupting me as I tried to share some of the ideas I’d come up with. “You do you, darling. Express yourself. I’m no editor.”
“Okay. Fair enough. But if you see my posts and have any suggestions, I’d be very happy to have your feedback.”
“I’m sure it will be fine.”
“Okay. Thanks. I’m going to let you go. I have some final edits I want to do, and I’ll be posting in an hour or so.”
“Oh, just one note,” she said.
“Yes?”
“What sells is a good love story.”
“I’m sorry. I thought I was documenting charity work in Appalachia?”
“Yes, yes, yes. I’m just saying, it wouldn’t hurt if you were to fall in love with a young doctor… or two.”
“Or two?”
“But I’m sure whatever you write will be fine.”
I laughed. I could never tell when she was joking or being serious. Somehow, I felt that for her, there wasn’t much of a difference. Everything was serious to her, serious enough to require a joke.
I ended the call and got ready for bed. I kept thinking of Ryker, wondering what he looked like, wondering if we would get along as well as I imagined we would. I took a hot shower and slipped under the covers. I started reading Ryker’s hand-written biography again, but I fell asleep and was swept away into dreamland somewhere in the middle of the first page.
